September 14th 1892: Erik
"Uncle Erik? Uncle Erik, the opera is going on!" Philippe called, tugging at my sleeve. "And you're not even looking into the right direction. The stage is over there."
"Pardon?" I muttered, turning my head far too slowly to show real interest. Hearing the music start I understood what he was talking about. "Oh… yes, yes," I added. "Thank you for telling me."
Content with my reply the boy gazed at the stage again, which allowed me to let my thoughts wander. As much as I regretted not being mentally present during the second act, there were more important things for my mind now than listening to some lovesick people singing about their misery.
My own misery was much more tragic. Half an hour ago I had still been happy. I had thought that following Christine and her husband in the interval had been quite a good idea. Well, technically I hadn't followed them, but waited for them. After all, it had been fairly certain that they'd end up in the room where all the rich people went in the interval to exchange gossip and drink enough alcohol to survive the next act.
Personally, I despised that pointless chatting between large gulps of wine, and not only because no one would ever feel like chatting with me. I'd rather spend my time doing more sensible things. Judging by their reluctance Christine and the Vicomte would have preferred being somewhere else as well, and still they had come here. The call of society was a powerful magnet.
At first I had hardly been able to understand anything. The secret passageway in which I had stood was very useful as a shortcut, yet one could only hear properly if there weren't too many people talking at the same time. Fortunately all conversations had quickly melted into one, and for a reason I didn't know Christine had been in the centre of it, revealing that my heir and her son were one and the same person.
With every word I had heard I had grown more fascinated. The Christine speaking hadn't been the shy chorus girl I had taught to sing, but a self-confident woman, ready to defend her opinion, no matter what it would take. And what an opinion it had been! She had actually proclaimed that she and I were friends, just like that. My heart had been swelling with love. How brave she had been! And how honest! Those people had given her plenty of possibilities to get out of it by blaming me. It would have been easy to say that I had manipulated her into giving me her son. But she had told the truth.
Admittedly there was a little part of me that had not been content with her. That part had made me return to Box Five, where Philippe had already been waiting for me to bring him his glass of juice, instead of trying to overhear what had happened between Christine and her husband after they had left the room. It was this part of me that was whispering into my ear even now. She called you her friend. That's all you are for her. Soon you'll be reduced to a mere acquaintance, and after that she won't know you at all.
I gave a soundless sigh, cautious not to let the boy notice anything. Of course I'd have preferred it if she had called me the love of her life. Yet that wouldn't have been the truth. And I couldn't praise her honesty in one moment and ask her to lie in the next… could I? Such difficult questions, and no answers… Even I wasn't omniscient.
That little part of me had grown stronger in the last minutes as I had watched my beloved and her husband in the box opposite mine. Listening to their conversation would have been impossible with all the background noise. But fortunately that hadn't been necessary. One of the abilities I rarely used had come in very useful: lip-reading. I wasn't as good at it as I'd have liked to be, yet it had been enough to understand most of what they had said.
During the fist one or two minutes I had been positively excited. So Christine did want to sing again. And she wanted to take lessons. I would get her back as my student. At once I had started making plans in my head. She'd certainly remember the basic principles, but we'd have to work on her technique. There were so many songs I'd like to study with her…
Yet it had turned out that I had rejoiced too soon. The Vicomte hadn't wanted me to be her teacher again. Well, I could understand him. If I had been him, I wouldn't have allowed it either. But Christine didn't need his permission. She had done a lot of things the way she thought was right. If she had waited for her husband's approval to Philippe becoming my pupil, we wouldn't have had a single lesson yet.
With that knowledge at the back of my mind it had been even harder to comprehend why she had accepted his condition of getting another teacher for her. Where had the self-confident woman gone? I had felt like shouting at her to think about it again. But of course I hadn't done so. Sometimes it was better not to let people know one had overheard them.
Staring into space dully I pressed the fingers of my right hand against my temple, feeling a headache approach me. Yet it was not the normal kind of headache, but the one which came from my mind, telling me clearly that I had spent too much time pondering. I ignored it. No matter how often I tried, I couldn't understand Christine's arguments. From what I had been able to read from her lovely lips she had said that she didn't want to raise my hopes by taking lessons with me again. Instead, she'd rather go to some insensitive person who'd ruin her voice. Did she really hate me that much?
No, I decided. She didn't hate me. On the contrary: She wanted to protect me from false hopes. The problem was that I didn't want to be protected. I wanted to be with Christine, if only as her teacher. True, maybe it would hurt me. But not meeting her would hut me even more. I realised in surprise that even seeing her with the Vicomte was strangely comforting. It made me feel a little bit less lonely.
A slightly annoyed cry of "Uncle Erik!" reminded me that I wasn't alone in Box Five.
"It's not funny when you're not paying attention," Philippe complained. "Without you to explain everything to me it's all boring. I can't even understand what they're singing about."
I gave him an apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry," I said. It occurred to me how rarely I had used those words before I had met him. Now they came quite naturally.
For the rest of the act I concentrated entirely on the things happening on stage. With Philippe asking question after question it wasn't even possible to let my thoughts drift off for as long as a moment. Yet perhaps that wasn't too bad after all. It kept me from brooding over why I couldn't be Christine's teacher. But it also made me aware of how boring the plot truly was. It was difficult to find interesting facts I could tell the boy.
Maybe we should have planned a few nice surprises for this part of the opera as well. At least that would have made it a little more fascinating to look at. Yet I had assumed that the events in the first act would be enough to make people aware of Philippe's presence and what it meant for them. That goal had doubtlessly been achieved. Every other minute I noticed someone glance up at Box Five in respect, sometimes mingled with a drop of fear. It was just what I wanted.
Still I decided not to stay as the act came to its end. A second interval and the final act were more than I could bear tonight. Besides, I suspected that my boy would fall asleep before long. His head was resting on top of the balustrade, and his eyelids seemed very heavy. Occasionally he closed his eyes, only to open them again and blink hectically a few moments later.
"Why don't we leave now?" I suggested. "All that singing must have made you very tired. We can go down to my house, then I'll tell you the end over a cup of milk."
He turned his head in my direction and nodded slightly. I seized his little hand, and we made our way back to my lair. Quite a few people were walking around, but I avoided meeting them. I preferred being alone with Philippe now.
That was the second reason why I had wanted to go. Soon he'd return to his parents, and I wouldn't see him until the next morning. It sounded like a very long time. So I at least wanted to spend the last hour with him at the place that had been the home for both of us during the last days. I could easily bring him to the right box in time.
After some minutes I had to stop, pick up the boy from the floor and carry him. He had grown too tired to walk. He wrapped his arms around my neck and buried his face at my throat. The small fedora slipped off his head, and I picked it up as well. I inhaled deeply, taking in his scent as his breath tickled my skin. It were these moments that made life worth living.
My hand had already seized the handle of the door to the passage leading down to the cellars when a voice made me stop dead.
"Erik!" it cried. "Where do you think you're going?"
I didn't have to turn around to know whom it belonged to. Still I did it.
"Oh… good evening, Christine," I said.